Allegria
by Fatal-Love
Summary: AU/oneshot\ Roxas imagines her as hellfire, hot enough to peel the flesh off your bones. roxene


**Allegria**

_Warning_: **Roxene**

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Oh-he was in_ love_.

He was in the stank, blinding, irresponsible sort of adoration that occurred and festered typically in the common school boy's badly stitched pockets, and in the lap of blue-plaid slacks. He was in love with her from the first time he saw her long, shapely, wintery—white knees spread. He had been crouched to the floor, collecting his scattered calculus notes when his eyes had just caught a glimpse of this glorious, rare sighting. His sharp eyes could locate a pair of dramatically dark panties—accentuated by her young, fleshed, semi-permeable stockings. Her skin looked cold, like marble.

He was also in love from the first time he heard her name—'_Larxene_.' It was like hot iron scalding the pools of his lungs, blistering his finger tips, and singing his lips every time he spoke it, thought it, or wanted to say it. The syllables left him asphyxiated and choked each high-school crush to death. He pleasured himself to her power and reached gratification through each letter of gasping realization. He loved, loved, loved, loved—lusted after her. Each night, as he lay on his pillow, her skin to him was hot like hellfire licking at his flesh—enough to curl his husk away and reveal the bones and raw lust he was composed of.

He was in love from the first moment her nails met his skin, followed by the brush of her naked knee against his own knobbley knee of ugly, ugly, ugly blue. These accidental brushes had him mangled and hot in his insides as his outsides stiffened with excitement. A feeling like fierce lighting shot up his arm and exploded his heart into painful throbs of longing—want—desire—**need**. He barely had time to recompose himself as fantastical conclusion grasped him and griped him tight by the tongue. She was warm and softer than he had imagined and her prickly black nails were like shocks of desire over his skin. Oh how he longed to have those nails scrap his back with the same desire he had.

He was in love the first time his name came out of her beautiful, girlish mouth of untouched tongue and untouched teeth with lingering aromas of gum and nice things like that.

"Roxas," She uttered, low, sultry, and smooth, "—Wanna' smoke?" His breath clogged his throat. Roxas could not swallow, he could not move, he could not breathe. The only thing he could manage to do was idiotically twitched his head up and down. He didn't even smoke and judging by that look on her cherubim-like face, she didn't think he did either. Oh, if she only knew he wanted her.

He was freakishly fascinated by Larxene the first time he saw her smoke. Roxas watched with wide almost-virgin eyes and his teeth bitten into the bitter skin of his mouth and his mind completely and utterly lost. Larxene mounted the school's roof edge with expertise and grace, causing her skirt to spread like artic waves over her snowy thighs and her ugly off-blue stockings to fold over. Her legs were once again spread wide as she faced him, causing blunt agony to stab his lowest abdominal region at the harmless sight. She fished out a simple silver lighter as he tortured himself, but the flickered image of the sunset's light over her breast entranced him. It was illuminating her like gin and rosemary and cilantro and many flavors that were delicious on his tongue—but not nearly as delectable as she. Larxene puckered her strangely red, like-she-had-chewed-on-her-mouth-red, lips and smiled lightly. Suddenly, she sprung the parchment 'tween her full lips alive with embers and smoke and disease. Her sallow face tilted up and let a spiraling cloud of silk float from her mouth, fully enticing Roxas with how seductively simple she appeared while doing it.

"I thought you wanted a cig." Her lips curled over her white, milky teeth that glittered with innocently disguised venom. Roxas choked on his tongue and watched as she pushed out the 'Sweet Dream' vanilla flavored cancer and replaced it with a mango/peach 'Skoal'. Her mouth was dangerous, one look at it and you were infected with stupidity.

"I lied."

"I know that—I'm not a stupid bitch." Larxene's voice reeked of poison as her cherry bright mouth pursed into an agitated line. Roxas' mouth was dry as the Sahara yet again—she was some sort of spell that made him wordless and stupid and blind and weird. He swallowed feverishly, wetting his pallet and forcing uncomfortable feelings down his throat and into his stomach. A harlot's smirk pulled at her lips, she was obviously amused at his struggles which she was causing. Damn_ her,_ damn her and her little skirt and her really bad ass blond hair and her smelly-smell of cooking and sweet things. Larxene pulled her form closer at a slow and deliberately teasing pace; causing the artic tide on her lap to recede into her hem and purge forth twin legs of hot ice and virginally maiden flesh.

"I-I-I," Roxas began to stammer moronically, losing major macho points as he began to sweat and realize that he did stink a little and his armpits were getting moist and shit—his 'hoohaa' was trying to punch it's way out of his god damned, ugly faggot pants.

He felt like a horny, stupidly idiotic (–wait…), teenage boy and god damn it, if girls think they have it hard, they were fucking wrong. His fifteen-year old, baby blue, mama's boys eyes were now ravishing what skin he should see on this revived Venus. A pinch of resistance nestled between his brows and he lost it.

"What is it Rox?"

"Iwantyou, Ineedyou—FuckLarxene, I'minlovewithyou." He blurted in an explosion of his bottled emotion and rushed confession that made his voice crack girlishly: which he would regret someday when he's, oh, about thirty-four and he'll think back to this exact moment and say—'Man, if I wasn't such a pussy, I would've done that in a much manlier way'. Roxas inhaled sharply and watched as her nuclear bright green eyes stared, shell-shocked and probably disgusted with the anxious and now nauseous boy in front of her. Instinctively, he hung his head in early defeat and depressing realization. He would never know the aroma of Larxene in the shower, or the look of seductive Larxene, or the feeling of her skin willing touching his, or the gratification of her black-as-sin nails digging into his back at release, climax, orgas—

"Well, well, well. I'd never thought you'd have the balls to tell me that." Her voice hummed softly, too sweet and too sincere to ease him. But, her hands were soon around his shoulders and her chest to his. The mounds of warm flesh that kissed his shirt made his heart leap into his throat and slam his brain into the hardest region of his skull. He found her face and watched her for a second, amazed and dumbfounded.

Did she...like-like him?

He didn't have to ask because her mouth was soon clamped over his wordless lips. She tasted too strong, like nicotine and vanilla and blue berry chap stick: although the flavor was waxy, it was her and it pleased him. And Gods, was her mouth **hot**.

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**a/n** : this pairing needed some more attention.

_mmhhmm_.

Mmm, dont you all enjoy cilantro scented Larxene? Yummy.


End file.
